


Mooch

by TheseusInTheMaze



Category: That Guy with the Glasses/Channel Awesome
Genre: Gen, Mad Science, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-28 00:38:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/301822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On occasion, a pet will beg for table scraps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mooch

It was three in the afternoon on a Wednesday, and Film Brain had the kitchen to himself. This was unusual.

Film Brain also had a fish finger sandwich, doused in barbecue sauce. This was the main reason he had the kitchen to himself - all of his colleagues were apparently so repulsed by the idea that they decided to move to a different room. Film Brain wasn’t going to complain. As fond as he was of his cohorts, he liked the chance to have some time to himself. Just him, the fish finger sandwich (so wonderful in its greasy crunchiness, combined with the sharp tang of the barbecue sauce)… and whatever cold, slimy thing that was rubbing against his bare foot.

There were several thing Film Brain could do. He could scream and kick and generally make a fuss. He could ignore it and pretend that he was imagining things, and that the strain of living and acknowledge that working amongst the various personalities of TGWTG had finally sent him over the edge. Film Brain decided to compromise, and cautiously looked under the table, his sandwich clutched in one hand. He put it back on his plate pretty quickly, though, and just stared.

Something stared back. Well, Film Brain assumed it was staring at him. It didn’t have eyes. It was just a vaguely slimy green ball of… stuff.

 _I’m not panicking,_ thought Film Brain, _and I’m pretty sure this is a good thing._

The thing extended a green tendril (arm? Tentacle? Appendage? Limb?) and seemed to be regarding Film Brain with a thoughtful expression, although it is hard to explain how a ball of green stuff could look thoughtful (or have any expression, for that matter, considering it was lacking in any facial features). Then its… posture (for lack of a better word) changed in a way that’s hard to describe verbally, although Film Brain recognized it. He was quite familiar with _that_ particular gambit, although the ones trying it on him tended to be a bit more… furry. And have things like mouths or skeletons.

“No,” Film Brain said firmly, while a piece of his mind started gabbling at the sheer what-the-fuckery (to quote the ever-terrifying Diamanda Hagan). “This is _my_ sandwich. I’m sure someone has already fed you. I don’t know how you’d be able to eat, anyway…. It doesn’t look like you have a mouth.”

More of that familiar posture, like Oreo when she watched Spoony eat a burger. Another tentacle extended itself and wrapped around Film Brain’s leg, rather like a small entreating its parent or guardian for a new toy. A small, slimy, faceless, tentacled child, admittedly, but hey, nobodies perfect, right? (And now he was quoting Marilyn Monroe movies, and that couldn’t be a good sign, could it, at least in terms of his poor, battered sanity).

The thing extended another limb and patted Film Brain’s knee through his jeans, the same way Lupa’s cat Checkers did when begging for tidbits.

Film Brain felt his resolve weaken. There was something… cute about it, and that must have been the final sign of his break with reality, because not only was he hallucinating a big balls of green stuff, he was finding them endearing. Well, if he was going crazy, what did he have to lose?

With a sigh, Film Brain opened his sandwich and took out a fish finger. He broke it in half, ignoring the barbecue sauce coating his fingers, and held it out to the whatever-it-was, even if it was in a “why the fuck not?” kind of situation.

A greedy tendril snatched the fish finger out of his hand, and the food seemed to disappear in the writhing green mass that apparently served the thing as a body. It weaved thin tendrils between Film Brain’s fingers, then let go, resuming its begging posture. When Film Brain brought his hand back up, he found the barbecue sauce gone, and his skin was lightly coated in whatever it was that the thing was covered in. maybe it was another sign of his impending visit to the loony bin, but to Film Brain, it looked like nothing s much as those big balls of seaweed one sees at the beach when the tide is down, albeit green and slimy versus brown and crunchy.

Film Brain ended up sacrificing two more fish fingers before Insano came running in with a haggard expression and a butterfly net.

“Murphy!” Insano brought the butterfly net down on the seaweed thing, which didn’t put up a fight, just gave the impression of putting, although it isn’t entirely obvious how something without lips can pout.

“What the fuck?” Film Brain was glad he was sitting down. The whole thing was turning out to be a bit too… surreal for his tastes.

“This is Murphy.” Insano gestured at his writhing mess of green in the butterfly net. “He is the pet of tomorrow!” His voice took on its familiar manic tone.

“… right,” said Film Brain, and turned back to his sandwich, hearing Insano’s footsteps as he made his way back to the basement. Right. He’d look into that. But first, to finished his poor, desiccated sandwich. After all, it was why he’d sat down in the first place.


End file.
